Chapter Text
Shane planned a lot of things for today but… being broken up with on this very 14th february wasn’t one of them.
He had his usual run in the morning. Hockey training. Call with parents and usual fifty page reading. He had moved his dermatologist meeting the next morning to be able to come home late tonight. He was even ready to maybe not run at five. Maybe make it six or seven if it was a really good night.
Shane had ordered flowers two weeks ago, he also had chosen a really nice restaurant which had a lot of good reviews online. He went there and made sure they had the prettiest view and his girlfriend’s allergies had been seen.
They had been together for three months now and even if it was sometimes complicated to see each other because of his schedule, it was fine. He liked her a lot. Maybe they needed some more adjustments and time to talk about their relationship and where it was headed but he was actively making sure they had a nice night.
So he had made his bow tie perfectly and put on his new suit. The last time he wore it was when he won the cup, so yeah. Huge moment.
Things started to go sour when she hadn’t really answered his texts the night before but even though he had been a bit worried, he put it on the fact she had been busy.
She lived three hours from Montreal and well, she couldn’t be on her phone every time he sent her a text so it was okay. It was nothing.
Shane had text the place address and time this same morning. Still no answer.
Around 5pm, he called his girlfriend and left a voice message. At this moment, Shane wasn’t sure they were still on for the night but he still showed up at 7:55pm with his flowers and a chocolate box from her favourite places.
He waited fifteen minutes. No messages, no calls.
Shane : Are you okay ?
His text stayed unanswered for another five minutes before one waitress came to him. He could swear there was pity in her eyes when she gently asked him if he needed something to drink while waiting. He agreed.
Shane waited. Sitting alone at this very busy restaurant full of love birds. He checked his phone, tried to call his girlfriend again, his right foot tapping quicker than the rhythm of like people do echoing softly around him. Some looks were thrown at him, some people looked worried or very sad. The manager, or at least someone who looked like a manager, looked more angry that this very alone guy was taking a table from any couple who could have taken more than ginger ale.
When Shane ordered his second drink, the waitress gave him a full beer, going with a whisper “On the house” and a little smile.
That’s maybe when Shane understood he probably looked very dumb at this moment.
A bit before nine p.m, he finally decided to pay and leave a, quite high, tip on the table. He got out after a wry smile to the waitress who had the courtesy to tell him he looked really fine and wished him a “good valentine’s night”.
He hadn’t fully admitted to himself his girlfriend had stood him up willingly and not because she had some type of car accident but well, she appeared on her best friend instagram story captioned “galentine’s night w/ girls” a few minutes ago so, well.
Shane walked toward his condo, realizing he should have left the flowers at the restaurant, maybe they could have had a better purpose than sadly being in his hands right now.
At least, he could run at his usual hour the next day. Was a shame he didn’t keep his dermatologist rendez-vous, he still heard himself think before huffing. Shouldn’t he be more sad about this ridiculous evening ? Shane wasn’t sure but when he looked around him, he realized he had taken the wrong turns. How was it possible, he didn’t quite know. He knew the path to his home by heart. But he was in front of a bar, lights were some kind of red. Usually Shane wasn’t into those kind of places. The only bars he’d gone to were the ones they celebrated victory with his teammates and even those, he didn’t stay that long in.
After his first Moscow mule the bartender had offered him to pick instead of beer when he explained his situation, he felt like the ‘usual’ couldn’t really be applied to his now new situation. So Shane took a martini porn star, an outrageous name by the way, to try something new. It was very very sweet. He probably would need to run a bit more after those. He loosened his bow tie, half watching the screen where a soccer match was going on. When the bartender asked him if he wanted to watch something, he half heartedly told him there was a hockey match tonight. The guy didn’t wait a second and put it on the screen for him. Shane thanked him and offered him half of a smile which the guy winked to in reaction.
The place wasn’t really crowded, well, it was valentine’s night after all. There were a lot of guys… only guys Shane realized when he tasted his third cocktail. The bartender had left a glass of water near him but Shane was fine, so he didn’t really drink it. A bit of alcohol wasn’t going to kill him, right ? Shane had also sent some texts to his girlfriend. Ex girlfriend. They weren’t even distributed now. Had she blocked him ? He was trying to think about what happened. Make a map of their relationship from these last two weeks.
“What’s with this guy ?” a voice rasped, low and curious.
“Dumped tonight,” the bartender replied, not even looking up from the glass he was polishing.
“Ah. Shame. He is very pretty.”
“Ilya, behave. And don’t talk so loud, he can hear you.”
“I hope he does,” the voice countered.
Shane could smell his strong cologne, something like wood, spices and maybe something fresher. Objectively–and achingly great scent. His voice was playful, Shane could hear an accent. He stubbornly kept his eyes glued to the TV. If he didn't acknowledge the stranger, maybe he’d remain invisible.
“Heartbreak makes you lose your voice, yes ?”
A shot slid in front of him. Surely vodka, he thought.
Shane frowned but gripped his martini glass.
“No thank you.” He muttered.
“You just got broke up with,” the man observed. He was leaning on the bar now, his body fully turned toward Shane, head resting in his hand. His curls were dark and messy, his eyes sharp even in the dim red light. “You carry giant bouquet, you wear thousand-dollar suit to a dive bar, and you sip sugar-water... You sure you don't want a real drink?”
Shane could hear the teasing and he finally snapped his head, red dots on his neck.
“I don’t need pity alcohol. But thank you for highlighting I'm a loser.”
The guy didn’t flinch, instead, he grinned even more. “Oh he talks. You’re welcome.”
He was gorgeous, Shane couldn't help himself to think.
The man was watching Shane’s face with so much intensity, Shane had the urge to put his bow tie correctly again or totally wore it off. No in between.
“Tell me. What happened. What did you do?”
Shane turned back to the TV. “Nothing.”
“What? He didn’t like the ridiculous bow tie?”
“She. And it's a classic bow tie. And it's not ridiculous,” Shane snapped before he could stop himself.
“She. huh.” He half chuckled.
“What ?”
Shane looked at the guy again.
“Nothing.” He shrugged, his shoulders broad under his jacket. He used two long fingers to slide the shot glass an inch closer to Shane’s hand. “Talk. You have better things to do? Or maybe you don’t know how to drink real alcohol?”
“I can drink just fine.” Shane’s pride said, a bit hastily.
“Ah.” He stilled, nodding for a second, “Yes. That is it. You are... too pretty for vodka.”
He tossed back his own shot in one fluid motion and started to turn back to the bar as if the conversation were over.
“What? No. It’s not,” Shane tried, frustrated.
The guy paused, looking at Shane over his shoulder, eyes dropping to Shane’s mouth. He didn't say a word; he just waited.
Without a beat, Shane grabbed the glass and emptied it with a wince. The burn was instantaneous, scraping down his throat and hitting his stomach like a lead weight. He nearly gasped, blinking back tears.
“Ha,” Ilya hummed, looking satisfied. “See? You live.”
Shane wiped his mouth, feeling the "warm pool" in his stomach turn into a slow-moving fire.
“So. Girlfriend dumped you?”
“Ex-girlfriend.” Shane corrected, still recovering from the shot.
“Right. The ex.” He waited, his gaze heavy and expectant.
“She just... she didn’t show up. She went out with her friends instead.”
“Ah.” He seemed half disappointed.
“Yes.”
“And why?” He insisted, leaning closer.
“Well. I… I don’t know. Everything was fine. We were good. Perfect.”
“Yes? No warning at all ?”
“No,” Shane quickly answered before biting the inside of his cheek. “Well. We had a fight. Two weeks ago. Nothing bad. We talked it out and it was okay. I mean…I thought it was okay.”
“What about?”
Shane coughed, shifting on the stool. He could feel the stare on him, warm and intentional.
“What? Sex?”
Shane’s eyes widened. He threw a panicked look around the bar before glaring at the man next to him. “Can you lower your voice?” he hissed.
“So sex. Huh.” Ilya kept going like he hadn’t heard a word, his gaze scanning Shane’s face. “What? She doesn’t like? You don't like? No. You like. Right?”
“I… I am not talking about this with a perfect stranger. I don’t even know your name, for God’s sake.”
“Ilya,” he said simply, offering a sharp, toothy grin. “You?”
Shane blinked, the bluntness of the introduction catching him off guard. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shane.”
“Shane,” Ilya repeated, like he was tasting it. “Now we are not strangers, yes? So, the sex. What she not like? You have beautiful face, Shane.”
Shane was suddenly very grateful for the dim red lighting of the bar. It hid the heat he could feel blooming across his cheeks and down his neck.
“...Thank you,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, trying to find his composure and failing miserably. “It’s not that we don’t like sex. Either of us. It’s just...” He trailed off, closing his eyes tight against the memory of their last argument. “She doesn’t like it with me.”
“She blind?” Ilya seemed to fake worry.
Shane chuckled. His gaze found Ilya’s face again. This guy was something else.
“No, she’s not blind, Ilya. Sometimes people… are not compatible with this.”
“Compatible.” Ilya offered another grin. “I think you and me would be very compatible.”
“What?” Shane could only offer.
“You are pretty. I am handsome. We should fuck, yes?”
“No. Are you crazy? Of course not. I’m… I had a girlfriend few hours ago.” Shane had wanted to say he was straight but to be fair, he wasn’t sure anymore.
Ilya let his gaze travel from Shane’s head to toe, slow and deliberate. He shrugged again. “Yes. Girlfriend.”
Shane blushed, red blots coloring his skin. “Yes.”
Ilya hummed, a low sound in his throat. “Boring.” He signaled the bartender for two more shots. “You try calling her?”
Shane wanted to argue he wasn’t boring. But looking at his life—the 5 AM runs, the rigid schedules—maybe he wasn’t the funniest person alive. Still, tonight was the least boring night he’d had in years.
“Yes. But she didn’t answer.” He shrugged. They took the second shot together. Ilya pushed the glass of water in front of him, and Shane didn’t argue this time.
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“Give me.”
“What are you going to do?” Shane eyed him suspiciously but took the phone from his pocket anyway. “I don’t want to call her. It’s stupid.”
“I am not calling your ex-girlfriend. I am not a loser,” Ilya said, extending his hand. “What are you afraid of? She already dumped you.”
Shane winced. Ilya wasn’t wrong. He gave him the phone. Ilya took it and went straight to the texts. When Shane moved to object, Ilya put two fingers close to Shane’s lips. Shane’s heart hammered against his ribs—not from anger, but from a sudden, sharp jolt of arousal at the touch.
“Shane. She dumped you before tonight. She already dumped you,” Ilya cackled, reading the screen.
“What?”
I’m sorry about the fight, Shane. I like you really much, I just hope you understand it doesn’t quite go how I’d like it to be. I’d rather us be like that—how we were before!!
“'Before' is friends, yes?”
“No. I mean. We talked after. About this and… us.”
“She said she is your girlfriend? She is coming for Valentine’s?”
“Not explicitly but… I mean… We didn’t break up. We didn’t.”
“Shane…”
“Don’t.” Shane cut him off, his chest tight. “Two shots, please,” he ordered.
“Oh. Mr. Liquor now?”
Shane glared at him. They still took the shots.
“...And you. What are you doing here on Valentine’s Day?”
“Perfect day to pick up people. Like dumped pretty guy with freckles.”
“You’re such a tease.”
“You don’t like?” Ilya’s shoulders brushed his.
“I told you, I–.”
“Yes or no, Shane?”
Their eyes locked. Shane’s gaze dropped and found Ilya’s lips. Ilya flashed a sly smile. Shane looked away, his attention shifting to the screen again. Black screen.
“France lose. Canada won,” Ilya noted.
“Ah. Thank you.”
“You play?”
Shane watched Ilya again. He played for a minor league team; he lived for the game even if it wasn't the NHL—yet. Was it that obvious?
“No. No, I was planning a day off.”
“Ah, yes.”
“And you… What do you do?” Shane asked.
“I am talking to you.”
Shane stared at him, unimpressed.
“I do many things,” Ilya said, ticking them off on his fingers.
“Carwash, waiter, cook... flirting with pretty guys.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do a lot of that.”
“You jealous? Is okay. I only want you tonight.”
Shane laughed, the alcohol finally softening his edges. He felt warm, reckless. Maybe not enough to tell Ilya he was curious about tasting his lips, but still—he could let himself just be.
“Very happy to hear that, Ilya. But should I believe you based on words only?” he taunted.
Ilya’s smile faded. His pupils blew wide, making his eyes look like dark pools. Suddenly, Shane didn't feel like the one in control. He felt like prey. And for the first time in his life, he loved it. He loved thinking about how this guy was awakening something in him.
“No,” Ilya whispered, leaning in until their breaths mingled. “You shouldn't.”
Shane had never wanted something more. The strength of it made him shudder. The second their lips met, brushed, Shane was unable to stop. He kissed Ilya feverishly. It wasn't perfect. Shane wondered if he had ever been kissed this way. They had to find their rhythm; Shane was unsure when to give and when to take. It was a collision of vodka and something like retribution. Shane moaned into Ilya’s mouth, his fingers tangling in the stranger's hair as he leaned into the touch. He felt lightheaded, the rhythm of the bar fading into the background.
When they finally broke apart, Shane was breathless. “Wait,” he whispered, glancing at the bartender. “Not here.” He made a move to recoil, but Ilya’s hand stayed on his hips, chasing him. Shane smiled.
“Ilya,” Shane whispered.
“Okay.”
Shane’s eyes went to Ilya’s face, searching for disappointment, but Ilya was scanning him with an obscene kind of hunger. “I wanna kiss you again. All night. Naked. I want to see your other freckles. You want?”
Shane’s throat went dry and his dick quite hard. “Ilya.”
Ilya’s eyes went over him like a caress. He stopped at Shane's pants with a proud smile, and Shane shifted, blushing.
Ilya stood up, tossing cash on the bar. He tapped Shane’s wrist when Shane tried to reach for his own wallet. “Got a room. Hotel next street.”
There was a stretch of silence. Ilya raised an eyebrow. He lowered his head then watched Shane again, one of his hands adjusting his shirt where Shane couldn’t miss the bulge, he wasn’t able to physically look away. He swallowed but couldn’t find words. He didn't know if the buzz was the vodka or the man standing over him.
“Okay,” he finally managed.
Ilya headed for the door, tossing a wave over his shoulder. He was halfway out before Shane spoke again.
“What is the room number?”
Ilya stopped, half-turning with a smirk. “What was that?”
Shane rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “What is your room number?”
“Fourteen-ten,” Ilya said, facing him fully this time.
“If I—if I knock on the door of room 1410, maybe in ten minutes?” Shane said far too quickly.
“I might open the door.” Ilya's mouth twitched up.
“I might knock,” Shane replied.
“Ask for Rozanov,” Ilya added, snatching Shane's discarded flowers off the bar and winking.
Rozanov. Somehow the name sounded familiar, but Shane couldn't place it.
Then Ilya was gone. Flowers suited him, Shane thought.
He also thought he should have been sadder. About tonight, about getting dumped. But nothing came. Except for the way he was tearing the skin of some part of his lips.
He ordered one last shot—for the road. He hated vodka.
Well, except for when it was on Ilya’s tongue.
Nothing he had planned for the 14th happened, but for once, Shane realized he didn’t mind the unexpected.